Devil in the sky, p.22
Devil in the Sky, page 22
Julian took a deep, calming breath. You’re in charge here, he told himself. Act like it.
He handed his medical bag to the Bajoran medic. “Everything you need is inside,” he said.
“Thanks,” the man said. He hurried off to see to the wounded.
“Wilkens,” he said. “You’re in charge down here. Get everyone settled in for takeoff. Muckerheide!”
“Here, sir,” a weak voice called. Julian turned until he located the source. Muckerheide was propped in the corner. He looked like he’d taken a glancing phaser blast to his side. The fact that he was conscious at all was sign enough that he’d live.
“Take it easy,” Julian called. “I’ll be on the bridge.”
He wove through the Bajorans sitting on the floor and made his way down a long, narrow corridor with tomblike cabins to either side. The Cardassians didn’t build with human aesthetics in mind, he told himself, feeling a touch claustrophobic.
He pushed through a small hatch and into the ship’s bridge. It was situated in the nose of ship, a semicircle-shaped room about twice the size of a runabout’s main cabin. The captain’s station was in the middle, six crew stations spaced equidistantly around it. Captain Dyoran and five other Bajorans he didn’t know by name now manned all those stations.
The captain’s seat was empty. Feeling a little bit out of place, Julian sank into it. The softness surprised him—one of the few comforts he’d yet found in the Cardassian military.
Now, he thought, to get on top of things. He studied the forward viewscreen, which showed the docking bay. Several dozen Cardassian soldiers seemed to be setting up an energy cannon. Doubtless they planned to use it on the ship. What would Sisko have done? Gathered information, then made the best decision he could based on available data.
“Report!” he snapped in his best impression of Sisko.
Captain Dyoran looked back at him a little oddly. “Engines up to full power. We can take off any time we want.”
“Do so,” Julian said.
“Doctor, there’s a forcefield—”
“Then blast its controls. This ship has weapons, doesn’t it?”
Dyoran grinned. “My thought exactly.” He turned to the woman next to him. “Proceed, Cella.”
She touched several buttons, and phaser fire lashed out from the ship.
The phaser shots struck the control booth. It vaporized. Abruptly the docking bay’s lights went out. For a heartbeat Julian listened to absolute silence; then, even through the hull of the ship, he heard the vast sucking sound outside. Vacuum, he realized—the cargo bay had been exposed to the raw vacuum of space. To his horror, everything not bolted to the ground—Cardassians, papers, equipment, everything—blew out through the opening overhead where the forcefield had been.
It only took a few seconds to clear out the docking bay. But the sucking sound didn’t stop. It dwindled to a whistle, a little like an old Earth train on an old tape. Why didn’t the noise stop?
Ttan’s tunnel. He felt a sudden flutter in his chest as he realized the effect must be spreading throughout the whole underground complex. Ttan had cut through the docking bay’s floor into half a dozen levels, straight into the heart of the base. Every bit of air would be sucked out into space.
He’d condemned dozens, if not hundreds, of Cardassians to death. Never mind that they’d been trying to kill him and committing war crimes to boot—the magnitude of what he’d done staggered him. His orders had made it so. He’d never carried such a weight on his shoulders before, and the immensity of it staggered him.
“Captain?” Dyoran said. “Captain?”
It took Julian a moment to realize Dyoran meant him. “Uh, yes?” he said.
“All stations standing by.”
“Then—lift off,” he said. “Get us out of here.”
He sank back, feeling sick and exhausted, and watched in a numb sort of amazement as the crew around him powered up the engines and lifted the ship on impulse power. They cleared the docking bay and reached open space, and the gas giant—with its swirling reds, oranges, and yellows—seemed to swing around. It took up most of the forward viewscreen.
It was done, he realized. They had succeeded. They’d not only rescued Ttan, but dozens of Bajoran prisoners.
Then his communicator hailed him.
“Julian?” Dax’s voice said. “What in the seven hells is going on down there?”
Julian gasped. In the excitement he’d completely forgotten about her. He tapped his badge.
“Bashir here,” he said. Hastily he filled her in.
There came a long silence when he finished. Finally Dax said, “We’ll have to make the best of it. Go to this heading—” and she read off a series of numbers.
“Got that?” Julian asked Dyoran.
“Yes, Captain,” Dyoran said. “New heading on this mark.”
“Julian,” Dax went on over the communicator. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. I’m picking up six large Cardassian vessels bearing down on your moon. Head for Federation space at impulse power for five more minutes. Be prepared to go to warp on my command.”
“Roger,” Julian said. He found himself gripping the arms of the captain’s seat so hard his knuckles hurt. He forced himself to let go.
“We’re being hailed,” one of the Bajorans told him. “It’s the lead ship—the Ramoth’s Revenge. Should I answer?”
“No,” Julian said. Then he bit his lip. If he didn’t answer, they’d know something was wrong. “Yes,” he said. “Voice only—no picture.”
“Coming through now.”
“Dagger,” said a chill Cardassian voice, “what is your status?”
“Davonia has suffered a major reactor leak,” Julian said in what he hoped was an equally cool voice. “We are contaminated. Stand off, Ramoth’s Revenge.”
“Put me on visual.”
“Negative,” Julian said, praying desperately that the captain of the Ramoth’s Revenge would believe him. “Our equipment is damaged.” He caught his breath and waited for their response.
When none came for several heartbeats, he whispered to Dyoran, “Can we take them in a battle?”
“It would be difficult,” Dyoran said. “There are six of them, sir.”
“They’re scanning us,” another Bajoran called.
“Go to full impulse power.” Julian tried to keep the tremor from his voice. “Keep us on course. Let’s see what they’re going to do.” And let’s hope Dax has a plan, he mentally added. If only Kira were awake—she’d know what to do.
“They’re hailing us again,” the Bajoran at the communications station said.
“Ignore it,” Julian said.
“Sir,” called a fourth Bajoran, “there’s a small ship lifting off from the second moon. It’s heading straight for the six ships. It’s firing on them!”
“What!” Julian demanded. That had to be Dax. But she had to know her runabout would be no match for six Cardassian ships! “Put it on the viewscreen!” he said.
The view changed to show what was happening aft. As he watched, the runabout fired a volley of phaser blasts, then its three remaining photon torpedoes. Abruptly the runabout swung around and sped toward Cardassian space. It went to warp before Julian’s startled eyes.
Two of the torpedoes hit home before the Cardassians could raise shields. A series of brilliant explosions rocked one of the ships, and it spun away from the rest of the formation.
The five remaining vessels changed course to follow the runabout. They, too, went to warp speed in pursuit.
Julian swallowed. The runabout could barely do warp three without shaking itself to pieces. He knew the battle would be suddenly and savagely ended. Dax had sacrificed herself to save them.
Then the door to the bridge rolled open and Dax entered.
“Jadzia!” Julian exclaimed. “How—what—”
“I beamed myself aboard before the runabout went to warp on automatic pilot,” she said. “I believe you’re in my seat, Doctor.”
“And glad to get out of it,” he said, leaping to his feet. He’d thought he would never see her again.
“Go to maximum warp,” Dax ordered. She sank into the captain’s seat. “That won’t fool them long. They’ll be after us with everything they have.”
The view switched to the front of the ship. Stars blurred into lines as they accelerated.
“Warp five-point-three,” one of the Bajorans called. “That’s about all we’re going to get out of her.”
“Will that be enough?” Julian asked. He wondered what speeds the Cardassian freighters were capable of.
“We’ll see,” Dax said. “I estimate their ships’ maximum speeds at somewhere between warp six and warp seven.” She turned to Julian.
He grinned at her. Things were definitely back to normal, he realized.
“Now,” she said, “I think I need a slightly more detailed report. Let’s start with what happened to Major Kira.”
CHAPTER 18
“FORGET THE OTHER HORTAS,” Sisko ordered. “Lock on to the one in the reactor right away!”
At his engineering station, one level below the commander’s perch in Ops, Chief O’Brien struggled with his equipment. Unfortunately, trying to lock on to a silicon-based life-form in the middle of a molten bath of liquid silicon was as tricky as it sounded, especially with many key sensors out and one of DS9’s two working reactors in trouble.
Instructing Lieutenant Eddon to monitor the damage in the reactor, he tried to get some sort of decent readings on his transporter controls. “Contamination?” he asked her without looking up from his station.
“Minimal spillage so far, but rising. Something is curbing the flow of conductive fluid from the ruptured tank, and maybe even damping the radiation levels somewhat.” The Andorian sounded confused. Once the silicon bed’s container was ruptured, the resulting release of superheated liquid should have resulted in massive destruction in the reactor facility.
O’Brien knew what was saving them. “The Horta,” he said tersely. Ironically, the little bugger was drinking up the radioactive fluid faster than it could spill into the rest of the station. The Horta’s omnivorous tendencies would do them no good at all, however, once the creature found its way into the reaction chamber itself. There was no use crying over spilled radioactive waste, as they used to joke at the Academy, but antimatter was something else entirely. Somehow, he doubted that even a Horta could stomach an antimatter-induced fusion reaction. More likely, the resulting explosion would obliterate them all before the creature could take more than a bite.
It was too late to shut down the reactor, as well. Even though DS9 still had one more reactor in operation, the radioactive materials—and the antimatter—would not go away with the flick of a switch. Besides, O’Brien reasoned, it was better to keep the Horta happy and occupied at Reactor 1, rather than risk driving it over to Reactor 2. One rupture was enough.
“Prodigal within transporter range,” N’Heydor announced.
“Visual,” Sisko said.
O’Brien continued to concentrate on the transporter controls. Someone at the operations table could handle the commander’s request.
He took a quick glance at the main viewer. Sure enough, the diagram had been replaced by a view of open space dominated by The Prodigal. Its rough surface looked like the product of centuries of volcanic upheavals, as well as several rounds of demolition derby with stray meteors and asteroids. No wonder, O’Brien thought, neither the Bajorans nor the Cardassians had ever tried colonizing it. The vagabond moon struck him as an ugly and inhospitable place—although maybe not to Hortas, he reminded himself.
Lord, though, it was practically next door. He’d have no trouble beaming the renegade Horta over there, if only he could get a lock on the damn beastie. He swiftly adjusted the transporter scans, trying to probe the ruptured energy bed, but fluctuating radiation levels caused his readings to shift constantly, beyond any reasonable margin for error. “Computer,” he demanded, ready at this point to accept help from any quarter, “lock on to alien life-form in Reactor Bed One.”
“Unable to comply,” the computer replied. “Silicon life-form indistinguishable from silicon environment.”
O’Brien couldn’t believe it. He clenched his jaws together angrily. The bloody computer had been trying to beam the poor Hortas off the station since forever, it felt like—and now, the moment things got a little sticky, the stupid program was “unable to comply.” The hell it was!
“Ignore chemical composition. Scan for concentrations of solid mass in the reactor bed.”
“Insufficient capability to perform function. Seventy percent of primary sensors malfunctioning. Require immediate repairs to execute command.”
Sisko appeared at O’Brien’s shoulder. “Chief?” he asked softly. O’Brien felt rather than saw over a dozen pairs of eyes watching him intently. Everyone was counting on him now, he knew, and not just the assorted officers packed into Ops. The fate of the station and the Hortas and, especially, Molly and Keiko depended on whether or not he could execute Commander Sisko’s last-ditch plan for their survival.
Is it just me, he thought, wiping his forehead, or is it unusually hot in here?
“I’m going to have to do this manually, sir,” he explained, sounding a lot more confident than he felt, and doubting that he’d fooled Benjamin Sisko for one minute. He popped a latch on the side of his console and exposed the transporter sensors themselves. The trick, he assured himself, is to skip past all the technological bureaucracy: the controls controlling the controls and so on. Bypass the computer safeguards, dispense with the voice-activated systems, skip the convenient buttons and touch controls … go straight to the parts that do the work.
And, when all else fails, pray to whatever gods there be.
“Radiation levels rising,” Eddon warned from the science station. Her antennae drooped alarmingly, although there was no sign of fear on her face.
“Remaining Hortas approaching reactors,” Sanger chimed in. “There’s only one layer of flooring between them and the security team.”
O’Brien dug his fingers into the innards of the console. All I really need to do, he thought, is recalibrate the subprocessor modules of the short-range sensors….
Unexpectedly, the floor of the station shook beneath his feet. O’Brien held on to his station and refused to let go. The entire chamber tilted about ten degrees to the left. Several officers lost their balance and fell to the floor. A Vulcan woman with a cast on her leg lurched against O’Brien, smacking into his side, but he managed to stay on his feet. With one hand clutched around a rail, Sisko grabbed the Vulcan and kept her from hitting the ground. A moment later a naked man landed hard on top of the operations table.
A naked man?
“The Prodigal’s gravitational pull has overcome the inertial field,” N’Heydor called out. Ordinarily, O’Brien knew, the moon would not have posed a problem; either a power loss or direct damage from the Horta had caused the field to fail. “The thrusters are compensating,” N’Heydor said.
Ops righted itself, and O’Brien assumed they hadn’t been knocked out of orbit yet. He heard Sisko take a deep breath behind him. “With all deliberate speed, Chief,” he said, in the calm, emotionless voice he reserved for the direst of emergencies.
Hastily, O’Brien reprogrammed the subprocessors. He tuned out everything around him, including his own aches and bruises and rushes of fear, and focused on the machine and his mission. Estimate the mass. Filter out the radiation. Scan for life signs, but not according to standard parameters for carbon-based entities….
“Got her!” O’Brien said triumphantly. But maybe only for a minute, he added silently.
“To The Prodigal, Chief O’Brien. Now!” Sisko commanded.
Via the transporter beam, O’Brien seized the rogue Horta, yanking her free of the reactor bed and throwing her onto the surface of the moon. He didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until the transporter released the Horta’s signal and indicated that she had fully materialized on the satellite on the screen. Then he let out a sigh he figured could probably be heard on Bajor itself, if not back in Dublin.
“Done?” Sisko asked.
“Done,” O’Brien told him.
“Long-range sensors are detecting Horta life signs on The Prodigal,” Lieutenant Eddon informed them. “I believe it’s burrowing into the interior of the moon.” The blue antennae emerging from her white hair perked up even as she spoke, rising like sunflowers seeking the dawn.
Sisko smiled. The crisis had been averted, but the work wasn’t done yet. “Lock on to the other Hortas, Chief. Send them after the first one.”
O’Brien nodded. He closed the latch and restored the transporter to its standard settings. Compared to finding that single Horta in her silicon haystack, transporting her hatchmates would be child’s play. It took him only a minute or two to beam all the remaining Hortas (except, he recalled sadly, the dead Horta now resting in the infirmary) over to The Prodigal.
Meanwhile, the commander fired off instructions to the rest of Ops. “Shut down Reactor Two,” he ordered, “and place a containment field around the ruptured bed. Tell Lieutenant Moru and her people to stand down and get away from that radiation. I want a repair team down there at once.” Sisko paused for a second, reconsidering. “Give the weapons towers top priority, though.”
That last command gave O’Brien pause and muted some of the glee he’d been feeling since the Hortas left DS9. There was still a Cardassian raider out there somewhere, and after the Hortas’ depredations the station was in no shape for a fight. Then, too, the Mother Horta remained missing, along with Kira, Bashir, Dax, and the others.
He hoped the rescue team had had an easier time than he had, but the longer they stayed missing in action, the less likely that seemed.
CHAPTER 19
DAX COULD FEEL the tension on the bridge. As the Cardassian ships closed in, she began to wonder if they were going to make it.
